Bleeding On The Ballroom Floor
by seeareuh
Summary: US-Verse: A 1,000 word fiction based around Justin's bashing. B/J.


He wasn't the same after that day. But who would be? Getting your head bashed in by a homophobic closet case to a bloody pulp is reason enough to be different. He still didn't remember most of the occurrences, even though Daphne and Brian had tried to help him through the fateful events of that night. From what he heard from a few closeted queers, girls, and Daphne, their dance was a prom in itself; the event the student body would recall for years to come from their senior year. He wished he could remember those specific minutes over anything. The lights. The music. The look in Brian's eyes. Brian, his love, with him on the dance floor. In front of his peers, judging him with all of their might, without a care in the world.

Justin made Brian go slow this first time they fucked after the accident. The doctors had told him not to put too much stress on his body, but fuck them. After all, Brian probably had. Brian's rhythms inside of Justin were heightened by the small sounds emitting from Justin's mouth. Not in pleasure, but pain. He didn't want it to hurt, but it did. His whole body still ached and there would be permanent back damage. At least his hand was still useable. Kind of. Not really. After Brian had exploded into him, they laid in bed quietly. The brunette stroked the blonde's hair and told him he would tell him anything he wanted to hear from the night. Justin asked what had happened after he called 911. He thought he might ask about that, and that was the one thing he was dreading talking about. He did have feelings and he didn't want to expose them to the boy a dozen years his junior. He lied and said it was all a flash. A bloody white scarf. The ambulance's lights. Being denied entrance to his room to just be there and watch him after he had come out of surgery. Clutching that bloody white scarf for dear life and slamming his already red hand into the wall of the waiting room. Glazed over voices and so many people entering the hospital with life threatening ailments and that fucking bloody white scarf that he couldn't tear his eyes away from.

The blonde smiled weakly and buried his nose in Brian's neck and the aroma of his Armani cologne and musk and sweet sweat filled his nostrils. He never wanted to leave. He knew in Brian's arms, he was safe. Safe from the scary world. From fear. From Chris Hobbs.

He didn't look at the world the same after that day. Every stranger on the street was another face he didn't recognize and thought they could be the next one to attack him. Who knew, maybe there were gay bashers on Liberty Avenue looking for their next prey. Someone would bump into him and he would tighten up and get defensive. Debbie would ruffle his hair instinctively and he would bat her hand away fiercely in a moment. He couldn't let anyone that close to his wound, unless is was Brian showering it with hundreds of kisses at night. The soft touch of lips were all he would allow to break through the walls he built up in recovery.

Justin's doctor recommended that once he relived the night and pulled from his memory the events he could, he should not interrupt the flow of remembrance. He would still have nightmares about it for weeks, months to come. He wasn't supposed to take any medication to help him sleep dreamlessly. And especially no drugs, because they could make it more vivid, as if it were happening all over again.

The nightmares were the worst. He hated showing his vulnerable side to Brian, even though he knew that's exactly what he was allowed to be. Vulnerable. Sleeping in Brian's bed, waking up with a cold sweat and screaming out in the middle of sleep were definitely not his proudest moments. But Brian was always there, stroking his face, shushing him into sleep again, whispering it was only a dream. Sometimes Justin wouldn't even wake from his hellish nightmares, but Brian still reacted as if Justin was completely conscious. In the saddest sense, those were Brian's favorite. Justin looked so intensely satisfied as he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

People liked to believe that Brian actually cared about other people more than he liked to let on… but they were mostly wrong. Everything Brian did benefited himself in one way or another and being with Justin always was not an exception. Justin served as his main relationship while they both had random fucks on the side… and Justin was always there whenever Brian wanted companionship or sex or someone to bitch to and about. It was mostly the sex, though. Whenever Brian would watch Justin sleep after fucking him, he was blissfully content. Somewhere inside of him, Brian wanted to be Justin's only… but he would never let Justin be _his_ only. Oh no, Brian was too greedy for that. Whenever they had that discussion, it ended in tears. Justin's. Brian would generally scream at him to quit being a baby and man up, and Justin would call Brian uncreative hate names. Justin would disappear into the night and show up and Lindsay and Melanie's house where he'd sleep. The next morning or afternoon, Brian and Justin would make up, make out, and make love. Well, that's what happens in Justin's mind. In Brian's, it was just another well hung boy looking for a fuck… the only difference is that that night, he'd be next to him in bed.

Brian hated to admit it, but he did love Justin. Justin was sensitive and sometimes too feminine and challenged nearly everything Brian said… but he loved him. Everything he never wanted in a relationship he never wanted… but with every touch, every kiss, every fuck, he fell even more.


End file.
